Out of Time
by Ghislaine Emrys
Summary: What happened to Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry after they were caught? An admirer investigates their fate.


**Out of Time**

It might not work. But what if it did? What if it really was possible? I'd never know unless I investigated it myself.

That was how it all began. How I found myself on my way to Laramie on a bright fall day. I'd left my hotel early in the morning, acquiring some provisions for the trip at a general store along the way. It was slow going once I left Denver. I had to be careful because my near-ancient mode of transportation necessitated a certain amount of stopping en route. So I drove slowly and savored the crisp air that held just a tinge of the colder weather to come.

A couple hours north of Denver, I saw a sign for the turn-off to an old stagecoach way station. It was tempting to stop and explore but I was on a mission and however much I was interested in the stories that old log cabin could tell me, I didn't have the time right then. But I did read the sign that explained the history of the place, and noted for future reference, making a mental bookmark, that the full name was the Virginia Dale Stage Stop.

From there, it was only a short drive to Laramie and I arrived at my destination early in the afternoon. Not too early, not too late—lots of people were still there and I hoped I could blend in with all the other visitors. I parked my vehicle in an out-of-the way spot where it wouldn't be noticed, and walked to the entrance of the small red-painted clapboard building with a white picket fence in front from which a _Welcome _sign hung invitingly, ironically. The flowers gaily growing around the doorway added a nice splash of color against the green grass.

Entering the gift shop, for it was really more that than a visitors' center, I quickly made my way through the piles of clothing in bins and the brooms in barrels to the check-in counter. Ten increments was the entrance fee for adults, according to the sign on the wall screen before the digital display switched to announcing the fee for children and seniors. Seven increments for seniors but it would be some years before I reached that milestone age of seventy-five.

I reached inside my handbag and my fingers grasped my iPhone. The only reason I still carried it around with me was because it was the last tangible connection I had with Steve Jobs. I'd never met the man-I was just an Apple fangirl-but I'd watched his performances and he ranked right up there with Pete Duel and Ben Murphy in terms of the effect he had on me. Reluctantly, I let go of the iPhone and reached for my iAll instead. I knew that would be far more useful for what I was planning.

Opening the Credit app with a tap of my index finger, I held the device screen-side down and swiped it over the payment monitor embedded in the counter below the fee display. A soft beep told me the charge had been recorded. A map appeared on my screen. I really must upgrade; even when I enlarge the text, the images are too small to see easily—but in this day and age, who has a spare five-hundred increments floating around? Maybe if I weren't semi-retired I could afford it but my iAll 2.3 does most everything the new version does and I don't really need all those frivolous bells and whistles.

I squinted at the text but gave up and clicked on the voice activation button instead. So much easier to just listen and do what I was told! I fished inside my bag for the USB receiver and quickly stuck it in my ear. As soon as I clicked _Play_, I was instructed to turn right, exit through the door, and follow the dirt path past the well-kept lawn to the white house on the left, which was the first stop on the tour.

Although the Warden's House was interesting, it wasn't why I'd come to the Wyoming Territorial Prison. Sure, the data about the men who'd overseen the convicts in the building only a couple hundred yards away provided a useful counterpoint to all that I'd read about the prison. And seeing how the warden and his family lived was, I was sure I'd soon find out, a stark contrast to the lives of the inmates he had total control over.

I didn't spend a long time there. I needed to reach my destination and put my plan into motion.

A small group of visitors was about to enter the prison through the main door. I let them go through and when the door had shut, I used my iAll to take a few photos. I wanted to remember my first sight of the place. There was no one else around and I reveled in the emptiness. This building, commanding its surroundings, must have seemed so overbearing, so ominous, so…so fateful, to those men and women who were forced into it so long ago. I tried to feel what they might have felt, and failed. I was free; they were not. I was choosing to enter, and they had lost all opportunity to make choices of their own. That is, they had made choices, bad ones, and gotten caught, been convicted, and had to suffer the consequences. And I had no doubt that they did indeed suffer. Being confined against your will is no picnic, no matter how pretty the view.

I pushed open the door and encroached upon the group of visitors I'd seen before. I stood a short distance behind them, as if I were just a straggler, and tried to look innocuous, but anyone with purple highlighted hair, no matter how well it blended in with the rest of my black hair that was mostly covered by a brown cowboy hat with a silver concho hatband, is bound to stick out a little bit. I was glad it was kind of dark inside; maybe I'd be lucky and if I did get noticed, maybe I wouldn't be remembered.

The group had a tour guide, a man dressed in a prison uniform. It looked scratchy and uncomfortable but on that cool fall day, warm. Come summer, he might have a different opinion! The man was saying something but my audio guide had resumed its explanation as soon as I surreptitiously pointed my iAll in the direction of the sensor I saw in the wall. I was in the processing room where all newly-arrived prisoners were shorn of their previous identities and transformed into prison inmates. They had their photo taken and the clothes they walked in wearing were replaced by that black and white striped uniform, along with black lace-up heavy shoes. Given a blanket, a candle, and a plug of tobacco, they were led to their cells.

I continued with my tour, wanting to hear everything I could about how the prison was operated. I held my iAll in my right hand and felt it vibrate whenever it tripped a sensor. The cells actually looked quite nice. I was intrigued to learn that the well-behaved prisoners were housed on the top tier of the cell blocks. As I wandered through the prison, I gradually fell behind the other visitors until eventually I was all alone.

Good! I was now in a section that listed the names of all the inmates who'd had the pleasure—yeah, right!—of being incarcerated in the Wyoming Territorial Prison. I pulled up the app recommended by the audio guide to learn more about them and scrolled through until I found the two names I was searching for. The two names that were why I was there.

Hannibal Heyes and Jedediah "Kid" Curry.

A sudden noise interrupted my thoughts. A loudspeaker was announcing that the prison was closing in fifteen minutes but the gift shop would remain open for another hour. Visitors were requested to exit the building now.

I paid no never mind to the announcement.

But in case anyone employed by the prison did a walk-through before it closed for the day, I quickly searched for a place to hide. Fortunately, I was in the North wing, where the cells were larger. I snuck inside one of the cells whose door was open so visitors could get a good look at how the convicts lived. Sliding under the bed, I hoped it would be too dark to see me if someone did pass by.

I couldn't see anything laying underneath the wooden frame and didn't hear any footsteps. Patiently I waited, and concentrated on not sneezing from all the dust. The clock on my iAll glowed 7:00pm. Surely it was safe to get up now. A buzzer sounded faintly and I hoped it meant the front door was being locked.

Which meant that I was locked in. I was now a prisoner in the Wyoming Territorial Prison. Suddenly, I felt a little queasy. Maybe I was developing some empathy for those convicts who did time here one hundred and fifty years earlier.

I sat on the bed and tried to calm myself, thinking soothing thoughts about bubble baths and the big breakfast of Belgian waffles I'd have tomorrow morning back in Denver. It wasn't working. Then I remembered my iAll and why it was called that. Quickly, I found my favorite yoga app and did some deep breathing exercises.

It was now 7:15pm. I had almost five hours of waiting. Naturally, I watched my favorite episode of ASJ: _The Man Who Broke the Bank at Red Gap_. I love the last line: _Never get involved in another man's game._Well, I sure was breaking that rule, wasn't I?

It was never clear to me what happened to Heyes and Curry after they'd been caught. I knew they'd been sent to the Wyoming Territorial Prison but information about them after that was lacking. Had they been pardoned? Where had they gone after their release? I knew most prisoners didn't serve their full sentences but information about Heyes and Curry after their arrival here was missing, as if they'd never even existed. I'd come to the Wyoming Territorial Prison to try and get an answer.

I opened up the Wild West Web and started searching yet again. I was hoping I'd be inspired by the setting; maybe I'd find something I'd missed before.

Success! For me, that is; not for the boys. After three hours of clicking my way through layers of historical archives and newspaper articles, I finally found it. I guess I'd never dug deep enough before, the travails of real life taking their toll on my time. But here, with nothing to distract me or pull me away, I got the answer.

Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry had been caught in 1884 and sentenced to twenty years, just as I'd heard them predict so many times. In that respect, anyway, ASJ certainly lived up to its reputation as being a generally accurate depiction of history. But they'd never been pardoned, hadn't even served their full sentences. There'd been an incident one day…

A tear fell on my iAll and I quickly wiped it away. I still needed the delicate device. I rubbed my eyes and continued reading. But I had to take a break after only a short while; it was just too sad and the tears wouldn't stop.

I sat on that bed, staring at the wall, for a good long time, thinking about how hard it must have been for him to go on after his partner was gone, knowing there hadn't been anything he could have done yet also knowing it was partly his fault. Guilt and I were old friends, too.

Now that I'd found what I'd been seeking for so long, I had to know it all. I continued reading.

Some reports said Heyes and Curry haunted the prison. After they'd arrived, there was no reason for them to keep their secret anymore. They'd kept their end of the deal but none of the governors had. Even the wardens sympathized with them and said their bitterness was understandable, but there was nothing they could do. Maybe if they were model prisoners, went to Sunday services regular, did their jobs in the Prison Industries Building well—maybe they'd be made trusties and could gain a small measure of control and freedom over their lives as convicts. Maybe.

Nothing I read told me what exactly happened, just that one man outlived the other, though only for a short while. At least the lifelong friends weren't apart too long.

And then the rumors started. A convict reported seeing Heyes in his cell, reading by candlelight. A guard was overheard telling his friend that he saw Curry cleaning a gun that had accidentally gotten wet. Heyes was making coffee in the kitchen, Heyes was sewing prison uniforms, Curry was taking a bath, Curry was escorting a woman prisoner back to her cell. All the sightings happened late at night, around midnight.

No one wanted to acknowledge the rumors and after a couple months, the sightings apparently stopped. At least, no one reported them anymore. And that was the last of Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry, as far as the world was concerned.

But when the EEE (Entire Earth Edition, in case you forgot, since no one says the full name anymore) streamed a documentary about the famous outlaws, they were resurrected in people's imaginations, mine included. Now I felt I was on the verge of the truth. But I had a niggling feeling that I was missing something, and that I wouldn't find it by reading.

I needed to find Heyes' cell, his home for…how long was it? I opened up the history of my searches and reread his prison record. Eight years. Almost as long as he'd spent robbing trains and banks. Maybe justice had been served after all.

Heyes had been locked up in the North cellblock, cell number thirty. That meant the top tier. I doubted Curry, with his reputation, had been as lucky. My assumption was confirmed when I saw that he'd been confined on the first floor, cell number four. It would have been hard for Curry—the first floor was a lot colder in winter. And I couldn't help thinking that in Chinese culture, the number four is bad luck, it having the same pronunciation as the word for death.

It was easy finding Heyes' cell; my iAll pulled up the original blueprint of the prison in no time. Naturally the door was locked. Only a few cells were open to the public, and this wasn't one of them. I'm not a fangirl for nothing, though! Apple doesn't recommend it but I jailbroke (how's that for irony!) my iAll a long time ago. There's all sorts of useful apps available and some of the best ones don't advertise but if you know what you want and you're good with modern technology—and I'm a genius at it—then it's easy. I tapped and pinched until the Unlocker app appeared. Aiming my iAll at the padlock on the cell door, I pressed the _On _button until a beam appeared and shot into the lock's keyhole. Six seconds later, I removed the metal lock and opened the door.

Taking a deep breath, well, actually a gulp, I walked inside. Closed the door, but didn't lock it. Gingerly, I sat on the coarse blanket. Even knowing it wasn't the original that Heyes had used, my spine tingled. From excitement, anticipation, fear—I didn't know and I didn't care. Communing with the dead wasn't really my thing but this was different. This was history. This was research. This was real.

I let my heart slow back to normal. I crossed my legs, like Heyes did in _Exit from Wickenburg _when he confronted Jim Plummer. Maybe I really was trying to interface with the ghosts of Heyes and Curry.

A calmness descended over me. I lay down, put my hands behind my head. The pillow was thin; it didn't support my neck very well. I sat up again, bumping my head on the bed frame above me as I did so. I couldn't risk falling asleep.

Feet firmly on the ground again, I contemplated my next step. This was the tricky part. The risky part. Maybe pacing would help. More of that communing with the spirits thing, I know. But I'd sensed it working before, when I'd had that weird feeling when my body first touched the prison blanket. Maybe if I copied another of Heyes' habits, it'd happen again.

Five steps one way; four steps the other way. Back and forth, around and around…

Pacing is overrated! All it does is make you tired and hungry. No wonder Curry avoided it. Smart man, he was.

Besides, it was almost midnight. Time enough. I sat down on the bed again and held my iAll in front of me. For the first time, I noticed there was no chamber pot in the cell. I suppose it was just as well since I'd have been awfully tempted to use it right then, I was that nervous.

I inhaled deeply, let it out slowly, repeated. Okay. I was ready.

I input my password and opened the menu of hidden apps. Quickly scrolling through them, I clicked on _Timeshift _before I lost my nerve. I read the directions twice, not trusting myself to remember them if I used the audio-only function. Read the instructions again, just to be sure, and repeated them aloud. Got it.

Hoping it wasn't just a placeholder for an app not yet fully functional, I pointed the rear camera at me, tapped the _Reduce_ button on the screen, and held my breath. Nothing seemed to be happening. But I closed my eyes and counted until I reached my target date and then, slowly, I opened them and stared.

==00==00==00==

I felt dizzy and nauseous. I sat back down on the bed and closed my eyes, breathing slowly, waiting patiently until the spells passed. Then I remembered and, frantic, opened my eyes to see my…what was it called again?...my, um…why couldn't I remember its name? Oh, yeah, my machine.

Phew. There it was, still clasped in my left hand. I'd been holding it so tightly, I guess I plumb forgot what it felt like, what with the dizziness and all making me sick. I reached for my satchel and… Wait a minute! My what?

Something wasn't right. Slowly, I looked around and the first thing I noticed was my clothes. I mean, the clothes I was wearing. They sure as hell… My hand flew up to cover my mouth. I never swore like that…

What was the matter with me? I shook my head, hoping to clear the fuzziness away but only managed to feel worse. Quickly, I reached under the bed for the chamber pot and used it. I wiped my sleeve across my mouth.

And got a good look at what I was wearing. It was a dark blue dress that was gathered at the waist, with long sleeves and a pattern of small white flowers all over, and it reached the floor. I lifted it up and saw the stockings covering my legs, and my feet in sensible, heavy, black boots laced up the front. They were comfortable but I had this strange feeling that I hadn't been wearing them earlier in the day.

==00==00==00==

Oh! But it was nighttime. Maybe I injured myself and had been taken here to rest up and recover. Maybe my real clothes had been torn and this was all that'd been available. That'd make sense. I think. I lay back on the bed and decided to try and sleep. Maybe when I woke up, things'd make a lot more sense.

Something was making a racket and it slowly dawned on me someone was ringing a bell. I couldn't sleep no more, but I felt a whole lot better so I figured I might as well open my eyes. As soon as I did, I wished I hadn't.

I was in a jail cell. No other way to describe it. What in heavens-to-Betsy was I doing there? I willed my heart to stop pounding as I tried to remember whatever had happened the night before. I closed my eyes, thinking that'd help. There were flashes of pictures: Me in some sort of metal wagon, me goin' inside this prison, me walking around, me sitting inside a cell and… My memory went blank after that.

"On your feet!" A man in a uniform approached the door to the cell I was in.

Finally! Someone who could tell me what was goin' on.

"Don't you know the rules by now? You been a guest of the Territory long enough!"

Huh? I looked around to see who he was talking to. Wasn't no one else nearby.

"Oh, Susannah!" the man smirked, apparently amused by something he said. "Get up and get over to the door."

He looked straight at me as he said it. My name wasn't Susannah but I decided I'd best do what he said so I stood up and went to the cell door.

"What's the matter? Ain't you feeling well?" Now he sounded like he almost cared.

"Actually…" I began, but he cut me off.

"Makes no never mind. Rules is rules. You stand for morning count when a guard comes by, sick or not sick. You can see the doc after breakfast, iffn you're still feeling poorly." He took out a key from his vest pocket and stuck it in the door, twisted it, and pulled the door open.

I hadn't realized I'd been locked in.

==00==00==00==

"Well, what're you waiting for? Let's go." The man motioned for me to step out of the cell.

I wanted to ask where we were goin' but the look on his face made me think stayin' quiet was the wiser choice. I grabbed my satchel from the bed and the man laughed. "You ain't going shopping, you're going to breakfast. Leave that. It'll still be here when you get back." He waited for me to approach the door and then suddenly snapped handcuffs around my wrists.

"Hey! What's that for? I ain't done nothin'!" I protested to no avail. The man took hold of my right arm and pushed me in front of him. We turned left and walked a short ways to a staircase.

"You wouldn't be here if you hadn't done something, dearie," he told me in a condescendin' voice. He started down the stairs and I had no choice but to follow him, seein' as how he still had hold of my arm.

Well, I guess what he said was true. I did remember I'd been eager to visit yesterday. Still, that was no way to treat a lady and I said so. "Just 'cos I went somewhere I shouldn't have, that ain't no reason to treat me like dirt."

He laughed. "This ain't the Brown Palace, Susannah. Stop your whining and get used to the fact you're going to be here for a while." He smiled, but it wasn't the kind of smile that cheered me up. "For a good long while, considering what you done."

I was more confused than ever. What had I done, other than spend the night here? "Look, I'm really sorry. I dunno what you think happened, but I swear I didn't do nothin' bad. And I promise I won't never do it again. Just take these things off," I held up my hands, "and I'll leave right now and you'll never see me again."

The man looked at me as if I was loco. Then he started laughin'. "Save it for the judge, dearie. That kind of talk don't wash in here. You ain't going nowhere except to breakfast and then back to your cell. But speaking of washing," he sniffed, "you do need a bath." I'd had a glimpse upstairs of passin' a cell with a tub in it but I didn't recall seein' any curtains. The man leered at me and I dunno why, but I shivered.

He gripped my arm tighter and we continued walkin'. We entered a large room that was obviously a kitchen, but it was different from other kitchens I was familiar with. A huge iron contraption took up most of the space against the left-hand wall; it was clearly a combination stove and oven but it didn't look like none I'd ever seen before. Various metal pots and bowls lay on top of it. More pots, pans, and ladles hung from racks on the walls. The coal scuttle in a nearby corner…wait! How'd I know that word? I'd never seen one of them things before but the word just came so natural-like… My head hurt.

There was a rectangular wooden table in the center of the room with onions, tomatoes, eggs, carrots, and loaves of bread on it, in various stages of preparation. A wall opposite the stove was lined with shelves holding more foodstuffs. I noted many cans of Winsom beans; crates of Alexander Frielland tomatoes, Douglas Bakery crackers and Giuseppe Garibaldi mushrooms; several cans of peas and peaches; Beauty and Gold Leaf brands of canned goods; and on the floor were small barrels of cider. Small chests and cabinets lined another wall and contained baked goods and I don't know what else. There were a couple of chairs at the table. A smaller table was nearby; this was obviously a choppin' block as I could see the knife marks scarrin' the top. And in any case, there was a large cleaver on it but that just made me wonder why a prison would have knives layin' around where anyone could get hold of them. Another puzzle.

Then I noticed we wasn't alone. There was a blond man wearin' striped prison clothes in the room with us. He musta been on the other side of the stove, outta my sight, but now he approached us. He didn't say nothin', didn't even look at us, but just stood there. So I got a real good look at him. He mighta been in his early forties but, prison bein' what it is, coulda been a lot younger. He wasn't shackled.

That wasn't fair! He was obviously a convict so how come he didn't havta be manacled when he wasn't in his cell but I did? I was just a visitor who'd somehow stumbled into somethin'—what, I had no idea. I mean, I was wearin' my own clothes so obviously I wasn't an inmate. But the man who brought me here acted like a prison guard and was treatin' me like I was a criminal. My head throbbed with the contradictions.

"Leave us alone, Curry," the man who mighta been a prison guard said. He loosened his grip on me and I shook my arm free.

Curry? That name sounded awful familiar. I tried to get a closer look at him but his head was bowed and I couldn't see his eyes. I had a feelin' they were blue. I didn't know how I knew that but I felt sure they were.

"I said, get outta here." The guard's voice turned threatenin' and he took a step towards the prisoner.

But Curry still didn't move. I could feel the tension in the room. I didn't know what was gonna happen but I slowly moved outta the way just in case.

"Didn't you hear me? I said hive off!"

At that, Curry finally looked up and I felt a chill. It wasn't just because his eyes were iceberg blue cold. It was the way he looked at the man. The disgust but also the menace was clear to everyone. But he quickly lowered his eyes and slowly walked away. He never said a word but when he was gone, I started breathin' again.

The man laughed and turned to me. "Curry's been here long enough to know what'll happen if he argues with a guard."

I had to ask. "How long's he been here?"

"Him and his partner…" I could see the guard calculatin' in his head. "About eight years. Curry's smartened up since he first arrived. That's how he finally got to be a trusty. Didn't take Heyes nearly that long."

Another chill went through me. That name, Heyes, was also very familiar. I had to find out more about him. Curry, too. I had a feelin' they were real important to my future.

Before I could ask another question, the guard grabbed me and pulled me to him, his arms holdin' me tight against his body. He rubbed himself against me and I felt somethin' hard jab my belly. I was so shocked I didn't do nothin' and that gave him time to kiss me. His hands were groping my backside, squeezin' and pinchin' and kneadin' me like that loaf of bread I done saw on the table.

When I felt him tryin' to force his tongue inside my mouth, I finally came to my senses and started strugglin' to get away. How dare he do somethin' like that to an inmate? 'Course we don't have no rights but attackin' me like this sure ain't right, neither. But he kept his arms around me and his mouth on mine, and I couldn't get enough breath to scream. He was slowly forcin' me backwards and when I bumped into the table as was behind me, he pushed me down onto it, pinning me there with his legs. Then his hands started to grope my other female parts and I knew this wasn't gonna end well for me.

It was hard fightin' him with my hands cuffed but I managed to kick him good. I tried to knee him, too, but he was a lot stronger and never gave me a chance. He kept squeezin' and kissin' me no matter how I tried to escape it. Whenever I got a second to breathe, I opened my mouth to scream but he covered it with his own right fast and all that came out was whimpers. No one'd hear that. I could feel his manhood even more now and I was gettin' desperate.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Curry return. He picked up a cast-iron pan and silently came towards us. He was gonna save me! I stopped strugglin' for a moment so's he could whack the guard. He fell to the floor and before I could collapse, Curry grabbed me. For some reason, I didn't mind bein' held by him.

"Here, sit down," he said and led me to a chair. He stood lookin' down at me, and shook his head. "You're in a heap of trouble, darlin'. Might even end up spendin' time in the dark cell."

"What's that?" I asked, and was glad to hear my voice soundin' almost normal.

His eyes registered surprise. "You don't know? How long you been here?"

"I guess you could say this is my first day." I didn't know how else to explain it.

"Ahh," Curry slowly nodded. He stood there a while longer but he wasn't lookin' at me no more. He was gazin' out the barred windows, lookin' at somethin' I couldn't see.

But that gave my heart time to stop poundin' and my brain time to start thinkin'. Before I could say anythin', Curry spoke again. "I reckon the best thing right now is to get you back to your cell. Come on; I'll take you." He started to hold out his right hand but I guess he thought better of it 'cos he dropped it to his side instead. Where his gun would be if he wasn't in prison.

He led me back to the cell I'd woken up in this mornin'. He stood outside the door and said, "You'll be safer inside." So I went in and he closed the door. I heard a click and knew I was locked in again.

He saw me wince. "It takes time but you'll get used to it. Sometimes, bein' locked in a cell ain't so bad."

I stared at him, thinkin' how ridiculous that was. He saw my disbelief and, sighin', said, "You gotta find a way to get along in here. You ain't off to a good start."

On that, I agreed with him completely.

"I gotta go. Johnson don't know for sure who hit him but he'll guess it was me. I need an alibi." Curry turned to leave, to go to wherever he had to be.

"Wait!"

He turned back.

"Thanks."

His smile lit up his face. Curry really was a handsome man, even in a prison uniform that was too large for him. He nodded, then cocked his head, as if a thought had just occurred to him. "What's your name?"

I started to answer but what came out was, "They call me Susannah."

Curry looked at me strangely. I didn't blame him. I felt strange, too.

"Well, Susannah, maybe my partner'll have some ideas to help you. We'll come by tonight."

And then he was gone.

The rest of the day passed by slowly and uneventfully. There was nothin' to do and it didn't take long for me to get completely bored. How was I ever gonna get through three years in here? I wished, not for the first time since my arrest, that I had never stolen those…whatever it was. Guess it was no surprise I couldn't think clearly. Not after what had almost happened today.

==00==00==00==

It was completely dark when I woke up but I knew someone was in my cell. I slid down the bed till I hit the corner of the wall and had nowhere else to hide. I held my satchel in front of me for what little protection it offered.

"Shh, it's okay. It's okay; don't worry. We're not gonna hurt you." It was Curry's voice. My fear receded a little.

A second voice whispered. It was also familiar somehow. "My partner told me what happened. We want to help you. We're not gonna hurt you."

My eyes had adjusted to the darkness by now and I could see two men standin' just inside my cell. They both wore prison uniforms and I wondered how they'd managed to open the door. Before I could ask, Curry introduced the other man. "This here is my partner, Hannibal Heyes. Heyes, Susannah." Well, that explained it. Two notorious thieves wouldn't have no problem pickin' locks and movin' around unseen at midnight, even in a prison.

"Can we come in? We don't have much time and if the guards find us here…" Heyes was very pleasant but there was a hardness to his voice that disturbed me. Like even if I said no, he woulda done what he wanted anyway.

I graciously indicated they could sit at the other end of the bed but I stayed where I was.

The men looked at each other, then Heyes spoke again. "What are you in here for?"

I stared at them. What difference did it make? "I was convicted of…" I scrunched up my face, tryin' to remember.

"It's all right," Curry tried to soothe me. "We all done things we're ashamed of but if you don't wanna tell us, it's okay."

Heyes was watchin' me closely. "Kid, that ain't it. I don't think she knows. Do you?" he addressed me.

Slowly, I shook my head. "I don't know why I'm in here." I was so confused, it about made me wanna cry but I stopped myself in time.

"Kid." Curry followed Heyes to the corner farthest from me. They held a whispered conversation that I couldn't make out. Now that I was wide awake and able to see better, I could understand why Heyes had been the leader of the Devil's Hole Gang. Prison hadn't completely squashed his strength of character and intelligence. And up close, he was even more handsome than I remembered.

My head started poundin'. These headaches were gettin' real tiresome. The two men glanced at me when I moaned from the pain but didn't do nothin' except continue to whisper. Eventually, they came back and sat on the bed, closer to me this time.

"Can I see your satchel, Susannah?" Heyes asked, holdin' out his hand.

An unsettlin' feelin' came over me. Didn't know why, but I didn't wanna let go of it.

Heyes kept his hand out. "Please, Susannah?"

Somehow, I knew he didn't mean me no harm. I handed it over and he immediately dumped everythin' in it on the bed. Curry peered over his shoulder as Heyes sifted through it all, finally comin' to that mysterious small metal machine.

"What's that, Heyes?"

"I dunno," the dark-haired man replied, turning it over and over in his hand. "Susannah?"

"It's a machine," I said vaguely.

"What's it for?" Heyes looked up at me, waitin' for more information.

"I…I'm not sure," I shrugged.

Heyes scrutinized me but he let it go. "What do you make of this, Kid?"

Curry stared at it, then started pushin' the knobs on the side that was half-covered in glass.

An electric current pulsed through me and I cried out, "Wait!"

I remembered. All of it. "Stop! I'll tell you!"

Heyes grinned triumphantly. Curry stopped playing with my iAll. He had no idea what he was doing and I had to get it back before he hurt himself. I made a grab for it but Curry, fast as he ever was, palmed it over to Heyes, who clasped it tightly.

My head was clear now and I was thinking furiously. I knew I couldn't tell them the whole truth but I had to say something. "It's a…a prototype. If you hit those buttons too many times, you'll break it."

Curry looked confused but Heyes narrowed his eyes. He knew something was off. "Who are you, really?" he asked.

"That doesn't matter. Just give it back to me. Please."

"No. Not until you tell us what it's for."

I sighed heavily, pretending to give up. "All right," I said grudgingly. "There's some new ideas about prisoner rehabilitation from back East that the Territory of Wyoming wants to try out. I was sent here to see if they'd work. This machine is part of that."

Heyes knew there was something missing. "If you're working for the warden, how'd you end up as an inmate?"

I could see why people thought he was a genius. "I'm supposed to be undercover."

Heyes looked at his partner. Curry shrugged. They couldn't discern if I was telling the truth or not.

"I'd like to believe you, but…" Heyes hesitated, then held out his hand.

Just as I was about to grab the iAll, we heard a noise. A cough, and it wasn't from one of us.

Curry whirled around and even after almost eight years in prison, his hand still reached for his gun. I guess it was just too ingrained in his psyche.

The guard Curry had called Johnson laughed. "It had to be you. No one else knew I was there. Still trying to live up to your reputation I see." He paused, and it was then that I saw the Schofield in his right hand, pointed at the man who'd rescued me earlier that day.

Curry stilled and didn't say a word. But this time, he looked straight at the guard and the defiance was clear to all of us.

Heyes looked from Johnson to his partner. "Kid," he warned him. Heyes moved closer to me.

"No, Heyes. It's gone on long enough. Now it's gonna stop. I ain't gonna let him hurt any more women."

Johnson laughed again. "In case you hadn't noticed, Curry, I'm the one with the gun."

None of the men were paying attention to me. I reached out and pried my iAll from Heyes' fingers. He let it go, his eyes never leaving the two men in a stand-off in front of him. My head was pounding again, but this time it was from fear.

Johnson raised his hand so the gun was now pointing at Curry's chest.

I knew what I had to do. As Heyes shouted "NO!" I threw my iAll to Curry and yelled, "Hit the center button!"

Curry caught the device and aimed it at Johnson just as the guard fanned the trigger and Heyes threw himself at Curry.

I heard two shots and then nothing more.

==00==00==00==

When I woke up, I was alone. Curry and Heyes were gone; Johnson, too. I peered at the floor, trying to detect bloodstains but there were none.

Darkness surrounded me, silence enveloped me. It was the silence of emptiness. It slowly dawned on me that I was back in my own time period. I sat in the blackness, trying to figure out what had happened, trying to reassure myself it wasn't as bad as I thought. I didn't succeed.

Whoever Susannah was, Curry had saved her and Heyes had also tried to help her. I hoped she appreciated their sacrifice.

I'd made the leap and now I had my answer. I took one last look around the cell where Hannibal Heyes had been confined, then slowly walked out of the prison. I found my car in the parking lot, buckled the seat belt around me, and finally let the tears fall. I drove away, and knew I'd never go back.

_Author's Notes__:_

_* The description of the kitchen is based on photographs I took when I visited the Wyoming Territorial Prison in July 2011._

_* According to the brochure put out by the Wyoming Department of State Parks & Cultural Resources, female convicts were allowed to wear their own clothes and "…were locked in their cells 24/7…" but that wouldn't work for my story so I took creative license and allowed Susannah movement within the prison. In the second floor women's section, one of the cells was converted to a washroom but there was no privacy at all for the female inmates and the guards could see everything the women were doing there._

_* Susannah is based on the female convict named Caroline Winfield-Hayes, who was arrested multiple times, one of which was for stealing two blankets worth fifty cents. None of her individual sentences were for as long as three years but the total amount of time she spent in the Wyoming Territorial Penitentiary was just over that length of time._

_* Currently, there is no such thing as an iAll but who knows what the future will bring…_


End file.
